my darling magpie
by nessa1
Summary: vlad returns to claim agnes. but his new shape might prove a problem...and will granny weatherwax approve? vladagnes
1. Default Chapter

All characters you recognise belong to terry Pratchett. All others are mine.  
  
32 magpies sat bemusedly in various trees around a sunny orchard. A bird's mental process is not meant to go beyond the words; 'food....shit....fly...reproduce.' but for some reason 2 words more were imprinted in all of their walnut sized brains. 'AGNES NITT'. Being magpies, they had no concept of names as such, and one, munching on a worm perched cross eyed on his branch attempting to assess if the worm he was eating had any connection to the intrusive syllables. Judging finally that the pink mass of sausage shaped flesh, did, eventually, come under the category of 'food', he righted his gaze and stared around, attempting to find an object that matched his increased vocabulary. It took him by surprise, therefore to find himself with a medium sized pebble wedged into his anal regions. Uttering a loud 'URK', he swivelled round and his newly crossed eyes righted themselves just in time to focus hazily on a cackling figure in black walking away. Hurt, the magpie hobbled painfully back to his nest to tend to his rear.  
  
The sight of the witch, for the other 31 magpies had been watching, aroused other memories in their consciousness. And as 31 brains clubbed together, a greater consciousness was reborn. Vlad was back in control of his body, or, in this case, bodies. On the still June day, a faint sighing swept through the orchard, several fruit dropped from the trees, and beneath one of them, a lucky tramp invented gravity. And shampoo. (Apples, on impact, take quickly to their new, less compact surroundings.)  
  
Vowels and Consonants could be deciphered as the sighing grew louder and the birds quickly flocked to one tree which eminated a dark red. The first magpie peered out of his nest at the radiating plant, but a sudden twinge of pain reminded him that a painful rear, in some cases, can be more important than freak phenomena. Vlad's consciousness worked further into his mantra and the tree began to shake and pulse anti-light. The Magpies shrieked as a shower of octarine burst from every branch. But the spell was wrong. One magpie was missing.  
  
As calm spread once more over the orchard, Vlad dared to look down at his body.  
  
'Oh SHIT!'  
  
Instead of the lithe, lean body he was used to, huge yellow feet rose to meet his gaze.  
  
The last magpie stared out of his nest and promptly passed out.  
  
Perched incongruously atop a small fruit tree was Vlad. Currently reincarnated as a six-foot high magpie. 


	2. twilight

Twilight descended on the Ramtops, it crept around the towers of Lancre castle, hesitated at the forge, then gained its courage and swept on over the village. Having found its tempo it allowed itself to spread over the fields, blanketing the witches' cottages, gaining speed as it raced towards the Gnarly ground.

But something made it stop. For half a nano-second. Twilight was confused. It was used to sending sheep and cattle racing for the herd-sheds, setting alarm calls to cats and owls, and turning a blind eye to couples in the long grass.

But something about the miserable but sizeable heap of feathers in the corner of the field was unfamiliar. Twilight was tempted to tap it on the shoulder. Was this a creature of day or night? Should he spur it on to bed or give it a kick up the unmentionables? A glance at his watch told the approaching evening to get a bloody move on and Twilight sped on, over the recumbent form of Vlad.

Vlad had not had a good day. True, he could now think in one, rather large, brain rather than millions and millions of scattered ones, but the body was proving to be a difficulty.

Firstly, it had taken him a good two hours to get off that blasted tree.

Six-foot birds are not made for convenient air travel. Think of the ostrich. After several false starts, Vlad had succeeded in hovering 2 inches above the top branches, but this had merely been confusion on the part of gravity, half a second later it suspended it's disbelief and Vlad had come crashing back into the tree, tail over beak.

Climbing had been one of the more perilous efforts. Wings wrapped around the trunk, his beak had got stuck in the bark. He could move neither up nor down. It had taken him 45 minutes to scrabble his way back to the top.

(two miles away, Hodgesaaaargh carefully noted down a new type of woodpecker into his 'Bumper Book of Birds'.)

Finally, tired and bedraggled, Vlad hit upon the answer, almost suicidal in it's brilliance. Standing on the most precarious branch he could find, Vlad jumped up and down flapping his wings wildly, until the rotten wood crumbled beneath him and he found himself on the next level down. Flushed with success, he eagerly found another likely looking branch and repeated the process until this branch too gave way under the gigantic magpie. Then, disaster struck. The branch directly below was new and still green. As Vlad, whooping triumphantly, came crashing down from the upper levels, the branch bent under his weight. But then regained its strength. This springing action precipitated Vlad straight up, over the top of the tree and from there on down.

Once back on Terra Ferma, Vlad had set about trying to think. But his mind would not co-operate...as he thought 'get back to civilization' his brain was treacherously insinuating 'eat a worm.... that caterpillar looks tasty.... ooooh! Look! SHINY!! PRETTY! Must run off with bit of tin foil....'

Sighing he pecked a worm from the ground, nestled down on the ground and started to think.

Molly Longstrange was a practical girl. She knew she must get married. And she knew the best way of picking up a young man was to walk around innocently and for no apparent reason in random parts of the countryside.

She had now walked 7 miles over a period of close on 5 hours. And not a single young man had offered to carry her basket. Or even ravish her in the bushes. Molly was starting to wonder if you had to book a young man, like in the restaurant in Ankh Morpork.

She was relieved therefore, to hear a velvety voice sidle up beside her and whisper in her ear, 'will you show me the way back to the town ... young lady? I'm sure we could have such.... fun.... together...'

The voice was classy and rich, and oozed sex appeal. 'Still...' thought Molly... 'I don't know who he is.... and he does sound rather foreign?'

But then a feathery soft touch rested on the small of her back and her brain kicked in with 'beggars can't be choosers, Molly.... if foreign's what your offered, foreign's what you get. You never know. They may even appreciate the charm of your slight odour problem, where he comes from.'

Molly put on her best 'coquette' face (as taught by her mother from a very early age) and reached round to grasp the young gentleman's hand.

He appeared to be touching her with a feather duster.

'These foreigners are strange...' thought Molly and turned round to face the young man.

Vlad had the grace to blush. Its not every day you get chatted up by a six-foot magpie.

As Molly ran screaming down the path, Vlad settled down against the tree and deftly picked out another earthworm.

It was in this position that twilight found him several hours later.

As night asserted itself, covering the tracks evening had made before, Vlad stirred himself, night is the most magic of times, and if anything could be done for his situation, now was the time to try.

Vlad became almost cheerful about his predicament, it was a trial, something he'd retail to the smaller vampires in the early morning before their bedtime. Things were looking up. He was out of the tree, his consciousness was back, and night was the time to sort things out.

3 meters away from him a yellow headlamp switched on, in its glow, a milky whiteness could also be distinguished. After what seemed an age both blinked lazily.

Greebo had come hunting. And it seemed a giant bird was to be on the menu that night.

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read? enjoyed? hated? indifferent? let me know.... reviews good or bad will make me write.

i need a beta....


	3. chapter the third agnes

Sorry for the delay. I haven't really got an excuse other than horrible horrible coursework. Bleh. I apologise for the state of this chapter…I haven't got a beta and am working through writers block. So this may be edited when both problems are solved.

2/12/04: pointed out by Not Your Average. I used a Harry Potterism (sweet Merlin) due to having spent too much time trawling for good hp fics... btw.. if u are a ginny/draco shipper..read jewel of the harem by Anise (recommended) )one of the best fics ever written. anyway, as regards sweet merlin...All has been changed….

Vlad became almost cheerful about his predicament, it was a trial, something he'd retail to the smaller vampires in the early morning before their bedtime. Things were looking up. He was out of the tree, his consciousness was back, and night was the time to sort things out.

3 meters away from him a yellow headlamp switched on, in its glow, a milky whiteness could also be distinguished. After what seemed an age both blinked lazily.

Greebo had come hunting. And it seemed a giant bird was to be on the menu that night.

Vlad froze.

Somewhere in his extremely powerful brain the warning light came on. This mound of slowly rotting fur seemed familiar, horribly familiar.

Familiar…. that was it. The blasted cat was the horrible old witch's familiar.

Nanny Ogg…that was it. Friend of she who had single handedly made him a caffeine addict for life.

'Nice pussy…good pussy…'

The cat came closer,

'Er…no…don't come any closer…'

Greebo advanced steadily on his prey, paused at one and a half metres and grinned.

'Good cat. Now just stay there…'

But Greebo had no intention of sitting still. He was mentally calculating how long this gigantic bird could remain hidden under Nanny's bed to be consumed as midnight snacks until the stench permeated Nanny's cottage.

He crept forward and raised one claw experimentally….

--------------------------

Molly ran towards the village, the flowers she had woven in her hair were a distant memory; small birds regarded her and envied the craftsmanship of the nest they assumed had been built on this manic human's head.

Reaching the outskirts of Lancre, Molly came to a screeching halt. Who to call? Who would believe a young girl claiming to have been seduced by a gigantic magpie? She looked towards the woods, home of Granny Weatherwax then ran confidently on towards the centre of the village. Granny may well be the greatest witch in these parts, but Molly had no desire to receive the sharp end of her extremely cynical tongue.

Reaching Nanny Ogg's house she paused, raised her hand to the knocker, then changed her mind and burst indoors,

Where Granny's face regarded her placidly.

'What can I do you for?'

'I.I.. Er …I was looking for nanny..'

Granny's face quickly betrayed controlled anger,

'Nanny isn't in at present. Will I _suffice?'_

This last word had knives in it.

Molly blushed and thought fast…

'Please miss, I thought you wouldn't believe me…but I was in the fields and this man grabbed me by the waist and and…and I turned round and…'

'And?'

Granny cocked an eyebrow.

'And, well…it was a magpie.'

'A magpie?'

'A giant speaking magpie…'

'A...Giant...Speaking...Magpie…' Granny intoned.

'He asked me the way to the village.' Molly's face was now the colour of a decent vintage port.

'You were grabbed round the waist by a giant magpie asking you the way to the village.'

Granny couldn't have put more disbelief into her voice had she tried.

'Please miss,'

'Mzz' interrupted Granny.

'Please ms you've got to believe me.' Molly was nearly crying.

Excruciatingly slowly, Granny got up, languorously reached for her cloak and spent a good five minutes adjusting her hat.

After an infinity of hatpins and bootlaces Granny swept grandly out of the door,

'Well, c'mon then. I aint got all day'

Molly stared after her in disbelief then trotted out of the house to catch up with the imperious witch.

If you had been wandering down a country lane in late June, the gods of comic genius might have allowed you to witness a sight never before witnessed by human eyes.

A large magpie, shrieking in indignation, jumping up and down with what vaguely resembled a cat hanging grimly on to the tip of one wing.

'Ow! Geddit off! Geddit OFF! OW OW OW OW OW!!! HELP! THIS FUCKING CAT IS TRYING TO _KILL ME_!!!'

Granny stood at the gate of the field and blinked.

'It appears you were right, Molly. Good thing I came as fast as I could.'

(At this Molly rolled her eyes).

Granny strode into the centre of the field fixed Greebo with a stare, and commanded,

'Greebo. Leave the giant bird along THIS INSTANT'

Vlad and Greebo stopped, Greebo, hanging by his teeth off Vlad's right wing had the sense to seem slightly abashed at the indelicacy of the situation, casually, he let go and sauntered towards granny, delicately spitting feathers as he went.

Once the pain had subsided, Vlad turned to thank his rescuer.

And fainted.

Granny sighed impatiently. 'Best get this one home haven't we? Well…c'mon gel, my muscles aint what they used to be.'

And she strode off, Molly stood, a vague sense of defiance on her asinine face before giving in and dragging Vlad off in the direction of the village.

Sixteen figures seemed to hover above Vlad's face, in painful slow motion their mouths opened and closed, eyebrows twitched, lips pursed, the vision seemed to shake, and suddenly there were only eight, another movement and there were four faces looking down on the stricken magpie. He recognised the evil bitch, who he grudgingly assumed was his rescuer, the terrifying Mrs Ogg, the soppy queen, and …and…oh great Io she couldn't see him like this! Agnes!

Agnes, her round, concerned, comforting face unmarred by recognition or fear.

Vlad sat up, immediately Agnes and the wimpy one rushed to get him water…

Christ he could murder a cup of tea…


	4. who knows what?

Ok ok, I know I haven't updated anything in ages. For this I completely apologise, as I also do for the shocking brevity of this chapter. It isn't in anyway complete, but is an attempt to show that I haven't given up on this fic. I have had no time to do anything, practice my bass, read other people's fics, anything. I've just been working. So bare in mind this isn't me at my best. Try and enjoy, there's some plot development here at least…

* * *

Agnes, her round, concerned, comforting face unmarred by recognition or fear.

Vlad sat up, immediately Agnes and the wimpy one rushed to get him water…

Christ he could murder a cup of tea…

Two hours later, and proceedings had taken a rather surreal turn. Vlad was perched on a chair at the far end of the long table in Nanny Ogg's cottage. He had been like this for the past half an hour, and cramp was starting to set in; Vlad was too scared to move, his chair was also occupied by a large framed photo of Sean Ogg and family, grinning, it seemed to him, in a menacing type way outside a cheese factory in Quirm. One movement too many would be enough to send the picture flying, shattering along with it any hope of getting these mad old bats to help him.

Vlad gazed disconsolately over the table, where, partially obscured by nodding cows, souvenir vases and humorously shaped candleholders, the stern face of Granny Weatherwax could be made out.

'So' she demanded for perhaps the tenth time in the conversation, 'why do you think WE should help you? After all, you say you're human, or human shaped, but you say, you don't remember who or WHAT you were previously. That could be dangerous for us. And do stop looking at my cup of tea like that. What harm has it ever done you?'

'Maybe he'd like a cup, Esme.' Ventured Nanny, who was sitting a little way behind Granny, absently tickling that revolting collection of scars on its stomach.

'I h'aint about to offer no tea to a magpie, Gytha. It's unnatural.'

Vlad's heart sank.

Agnes spoke up next;

'are you _sure_ you cant remember what you were? I mean, it would help enormously from the spell point of view. And we've had such horrible experiences with vampires before…'

'Now Agnes, lets not go around throwing out random accusations. Its very unlikely he's a vampire, they can't get in uninvited you know!' It was Magrat who had said this, in a very 'mother knows best' fashion.

'I know that! But Perdita says…'

'I don't care what Perdita says! It is unfair to accuse such an affable…um…magpie…on sight!'

Vlad was confused. Who was Perdita? Was there a FIFTH witch? His eyes widened in beady horror. And he flicked his head round quickly, as only birds can do, to survey the room they were in.

It was Nanny who resolved the situation.

'Oh, don't worry about Perdita, its just Agnes's second personality. A most, **ahem**, _interesting_ young woman. Agnes, do stop twitching like that!'

'I can't help it Nanny, Perdita's got my Right hand and... '

'Well make her stop. It's very anti-social, and I had to pay Mr Black an enormous amount to redocorate the last wall she wrote on.'

'I'm trying. PERDITA! STOP! Yes… I know…STOP! LET GO!…'

This apparently one-sided argument went on for several minutes; Vlad's heart had stopped beating. She knew.

Well. One side of her guessed anyway. And she appeared to be fighting it. He just hoped she was stronger than she looked…


	5. night time

'I'm trying. PERDITA! STOP! Yes… I know…STOP! LET GO!…'

This apparently one-sided argument went on for several minutes; Vlad's heart had stopped beating. She knew.

Well. One side of her guessed anyway. And she appeared to be fighting it. He just hoped she was stronger than she looked…

An unwitting, (and certainly very unwise), burglar attempted to break into Gytha Ogg's cottage that night. Jack Coupesac, a refugee from the tyrannical rates charged by the thieves guild in Ankh Morpork, had only recently arrived in Lancre, (one would have to be to even contemplate robbing the cottage of any seemingly harmless old lady in Lancre, especially one blessed with the surname of Ogg). Fortunately for him, what he saw as he slowly edged the door open, (unlocked, to his surprise. Nanny needed no locks to safeguard her house.) forced him into an early retirement.

A six foot high magpie was perched perilously on an overstuffed armchair, its face, as far as birds have expressions, was one of extreme primal terror. About two meters away, lazily flicking its excuse for a tail from side to side sat the most enormous bag of scars and flesh wounds. Jack noticed, in mounting terror, that it seemed to be _grinning_. That was the only word for it.. Grinning a Cheshire cat like smirk.

Greebo was standing guard.

Jack gave a squeak, and the grin, never wavering, slowly moved round to face him. It regarded him. Greebo didn't need to use his eyes to observe, the smirk quite plainly suggested that it could observe everything at its leisure. It also quite clearly suggested it had found an aperitif to its meal of 'magpie surprise'.

Jack ran, the shadow of the grin following him all the way back to the other side of the village, into his house, and eventually took residence above his bed, where it settled and hung… torturing his nights for weeks after.

(Incidentally.. Jack's life of crime ended around the same time, spurred on by the entire village's mockery of his claims of having seen a giant magpie. Only Molly Lestrange, the only other villager to have witnessed the monster sized bird phenomenon, believed him. His relief and gratitude at being believed allowed him to see through her rather horse like features and the two eventually married several months later. The two lived a happy, yet slightly ostracised life, and set up an nine foot tall bird hut in the garden, in an attempt to lure such a creature and finally prove their story.)

Vlad had no such escape route. The old bat herself had put Greebo in charge;

'You keep an eye on that magpie, I'm not about to allow any young man in any form free range of my house whilst there's a vulnerable female such as myself round the place! If only all men were as gentlemanly as you Greebo' she said to the unlikely knight in shining scar tissue.

She had then proceeded to take a few swigs from a container that smelled like Igor's feet , hiccupped a few verses of some song that seemed to imply alternative sexual preferences for small mammals and gone to bed. Which left Vlad very much alone with Greebo.

It's well known that vampires have the most amazing level of self control, but after trying to stare out that blasted cat so it would look anywhere other than his jugular, even for a few seconds, Vlad felt the need to look somewhere else. The jaws of Death himself seemed preferable.

Agnes, meanwhile, had been asleep for several hours. Her expansive body, shut down for the time being, allowed her subconscious to take hold of her mind, it was then, most prominently, that Perdita could take control, a task made easier without having to wade through the innumerable levels of self consciousness. Tonight, she had taken control as soon as Agnes dozed off, kicking remorselessly away the dreams of bunnies, rainbows, chocolate, dragons, Vlad, and for some reason, a large pumpkin, which usually made up most of Agnes' dreams. Tonight, Perdita was firmly implanted. She smiled, made sure Agnes' dream interpretation glands were fully functional, then began her diatribe…

'You know it's Vlad, don't you. You know, because I told you. And I'm NEVER wrong about stuff like this. So why are you fooling yourself? I cant explain why he's a magpie at the moment, but you know.. Those vampires have some funny fetishes, I've heard… I also know you want it to be Vlad.'

At this point, the part of Agnes still in operation protested feebly.. In the dream, she was represented by a small, but proportionally correct model of Agnes herself. Perdita TOWERED over her.

'Yes you do! You fat lump! He's the closest you've come to a sex life in your entire life! It's PATHETIC!'

Again the portion of Agnes belonging to herself made a feeble protestation.

Perdita rolled her eyes;

'Yes it is him! Stop arguing with me! You KNOW your intuition is hopeless. Look at the last time the vampires were here. I recognised them then.. I recognise him now. Look. As much as I hate it, I'm stuck in this body with you, goodness knows there's room for a few more in here too… you really are a lump! And im not willing to let you continue to substitute chocolate for what every other girl our age is getting! Think of me a little you selfish troll! And I know you had some attraction to him. He was fascinated by us… goodness knows why! Must you ALWAYS dress in that tent? Anyway… he's on his own now.. He's vulnerable. He's terrified of Granny and Nanny… he has a minor caffeine addiction.. And his own kind are nowhere to be found… Don't you see, Agnes? He's at our mercy… we can _mould_ him! Of course.. Granny must never find out.. And I don't think we should let him know we know either…but Agnes.. Don't you see? WE COULD FINALLY MAKE LIFE INTERESTING!'

A few hours later, Agnes woke up.. She yawned, stretched… and as always, when Perdita had been in her head for longer than usual spat out in words the remaining influence the latter had left in her brain;

'Damn!'


	6. borrowing

A few hours later, Agnes woke up.. She yawned, stretched… and as always, when Perdita had been in her head for longer than usual spat out in words the remaining influence the latter had left in her brain;

'Damn!'

But Perdita was not the only active mind that night. Surrounded by the minds of goats and bees and all other animals who instinctively wormed their way into a witches premises in search of protection, Granny was sat bolt upright in bed mauling at an apple.

Something was not right.

Granny had no time for shape-shifters, how can one trust an entity which relies on more than one shape to assert itself? She had met (stared down) were-wolves and boggarts in her time and found them pitiful opponents; forever confused and nervous, the ultimate schizophrenics. But the magpie was no ordinary shape-shifter, even if it was stuck in one form, what would choose to manifest itself as such in the first place… no boggart would deign to appear as something so ridiculous, Were-magpies couldn't even be conceived of… princes and princesses were always turned into swans or frogs, and were always decidedly aware of their shift in situation… so who… WHAT could the magpie be?

Granny paused in her reflections to toss another apple core away, as she did so her eyes rested involuntarily on the invitation to little Esme note spelling's christening, still propped up on the mantle. The events following that celebration came to mind.

Granny froze.

The Magpyres… the 'modern' vampires. They could change into magpies, had done, infact, at the end of the witches dealings with them. And one of them was in Gytha's cottage. Invited in, no less.

Granny was half way dressed when she paused, put down her hat and reconsidered. The magpie could also be the work of a vengeful wizard, or a loose manifestation, lord knows what came to a religious bent mind once the drink caught hold, only last year Father Simps down in Bad Ass had been visited by the spirit of the heavenly moose, which was still wandering round the forests trying to scrape off the halo which danced around its antlers… no need to jump to conclusions. But best to make sure.

And so Granny went borrowing. Her mind tore through the worries of goats, the stress of bees and the petty, near sighted dreams of humans, danced through the arrogant sex crazed minds of the stray cats who colonised Lancre's outskirts until it reached the minds in Nanny's cottage.

The feat was not simple, dominating all was the dark, menacing cloud of Greebo all aggression, lust and unbridled malevolence, then came the floaty half formed thoughts of the ghosts whom Nanny had taken in for good after fostering them during the events leading to Verence's coronation, with relief Granny found Nanny's mind, a giggling mass of rude song and drink ingredients which hid a steel core of sense.

Finally, Granny found the mind she had sought. She should have seen it earlier, it radiated 'wrongness' and kept trying to shift into something else. It would be hard to get into this one, so wary it would snap its own neck given half the chance.

She approached with caution, shying away every time the magpie's mind sensed her too clearly. A little push, and she was in.

The mind was horribly confused, it danced around, homing in on anything that twinkled, spoons, coins, rings all flashed past in it's conciousness, on closer inspection, worms proved also to be a prominent feature, they were wrapped around the handles of silver cutlery, the rings hid a coiled mass of pink, pulsing flesh… Granny licked her lips. Deeper in, the mind focussed on flying, the feeling of soaring through open sky, yet being aware of everything on the surface of the earth, the power of knowing that with one dive, it could pinpoint an individual worm and scoop it out, with terrifying precision.

Granny observed the magpies mind and started to relax, these were all thoughts consistent with a simple accident of nature, rather than anything more sinister.

She prepared to leave the magpies mind and begin the migration home.

But something made her stall, she turned and immersed herself once more in the thoughts which snaked around her.

There it was, the problem… the anomaly. This magpie knew how it felt not to be one magpie, but a Flock of them. The dreams were collective, not individual, not even wolves, the most pack orientated animal in these parts, thought like that. There was an awareness of the rest of the group… but not this assured knowledge.

Granny steeled herself and dove even further in.

_Castles with turrets piercing the sky, sex and screams and blood and submission, the weightlessness of flying, soaring through the sky, the scenery below a hunting ground. Intelligence coursing through veins, as natural as consciousness… a fact of existence, a thirst… an all consuming thirst for power, control, dominion and…. Tea?_

A vampire. But which one?

_Agnes. Agnes Nitt. Find Agnes Nitt…… she escaped once… mine.. All mine.. Agnes, Agnes…Agnes…_

Granny sat up in bed.

_VLAD._


	7. a little more bite

Usual Disclaimer.. All Hail Terry Pratchett.

And yes, usual apologies for massive delays. Sorry...but as a peace offering...

A witch at high speed is a remarkable thing, somewhat akin to an optical illusion. Granny did not run, one couldn't even specify exactly if her feet moved at all. The ground didn't fly past under her feet, it merely _cowered_. The scenery changed from moment to moment, melting around the aura of rage that surrounded her, fleeing, embarrassed, from her presence. In this way she approached, or was approached by, Nanny's cottage.

Just short of the neatly bordered garden path (courtesy of hours and hours of unpaid labour) the image sputtered and stilled, Granny changed her mind. Among the potted Gardenia, Granny Weatherwax furrowed her eyebrows and stood for a second, before abruptly turning around and heading in a different direction. A keen botanist may even have noted that the Gardenias seemed almost to sigh with relief.

Again, images of country lanes and paths oozed apologetically around the witch's figure, the rage seemed to have lessened though, and Granny's face portrayed instead a pastiche of thoughtfulness. In the distance a turret loomed, followed by another, and another and another, until the sky was littered with the symbol of gothic excess. A small localised thundercloud, working at premium rates, rattled and shook above it all sending out the odd, highly expensive bolt of premium 'portentous lightening.' An organ wheezed. Dontgonearthecastle came face to face with Granny Weatherwax.

Briskly, she rapped on the carefully warped wood of the grand-entrance, ignoring the strategically placed 'Do not enter, but if you do please queue left for photographs' sign near the knocker. When her knocking only yielded an inviting creak of hinges as the door opened three inches, sufficing to let out the eerie sound of quiet organ music, she slammed the door shut again, rapped once more and cried 'Igor! Open the door right this minute, I know you're in there, and you can tell the count to stop playing 'Music to entice barely clad maidens by', I'm on business!'

Sure enough, the door opened again, much faster this time, fast enough to precede the creak of the hinges by almost half a minute. There stood Igor, sewing needle in hand, with Scraps by his side, although several parts of his anatomy seemed to have changed pedigree since last time Granny had clapped eyes on him.

'Thorry Mithhstresth… we wern'th expethcting you.' he said, through a shower of saliva and apology.

'I understand, Igor, business is business. But now you will show me to the Count.'

'he'th…occupiethd ath the momenth, mithstresth…Can I leavth a methage?

'I don't care how occupied he is, Igor. You will show me to him this instant.'

'buth, the wenches are queuing round the aileth, mithtreth!' He saw the glint in her eye and for a split second his lisp dropped. 'but I'm sure we can give them later bookings…ahem…th…'

Ironically it was Granny who led Igor up the flights of winding stairs full of eternally guttering candles to the master chamber. Throwing open the door, they were met with the sight of a vaguely clad girl of about 19 hopefully waggling a poorly made replica of the spatula of Annoia at the Count, who, in full regalia was looming dramatically above her. At the sight of Granny Weatherwax however, he drew back his fangs and stood to attention.

'Cecilia was it? Can I book you in for Tuesday night? Sorry, it appears something has come up.'

The girl made to protest, muttering something along the lines of 'you wait all year for a good vampire encounter then they chuck you for some miserable old hag' before meeting Granny's iron gaze and retreating, mystic spatula in hand, away from the scene.

'Mistress Weatherwax, always a pleasure. And what can I help you with this evening? Surely I cannot tempt you with the delightful _frisson _of a traditional vampire experience? They are on offer this week….'

Granny held a hand to silence him.

'Vlad's back.'

'My Nephew? But surely you banished him, along with the rest of my poor excuse for a family?'

'It appears I did not banish him hard enough. Although his current form might be somewhat of a hindrance to any desires he may hold to further sully the Magpyr name.'

'Current form you say? Surely he cannot have got himself stuck as a bat? That will never do, not since the old Count 'Batty' Magpyr has a member of my family been so foolish as to attempt to perform the _coup de grace_ whilst in bat form.'

'Rather worse, or better, depending on your perspective. Vlad is currently residing with Nanny Ogg in the form of a giant magpie.'

It is well documented that vampires do not blink. However, for a split second, the count may have conceded that he may have merely rested his eyes, momentarily. For a second or two, he did not speak. Gone was the suave purveyor of dark and blood-filled fantasy. Momentarily, he became a surprised, and ashamed, old man.

'A… magpie?'

'So it would appear.'

Another brief, shock filled pause. Then the Count seemed to pull himself together and strode to the corner of the room and unhooked a cloak.

'Igor. Watch the castle and disperse the girls, give them a free "Bite Me!" fridge magnet each if necessary.'

'Yeth thir.'

'Mistress Weatherwax. Take me to my nephew.'


End file.
